The Virgin Roundup
by fbeauchamphartz
Summary: After Barry totally puts his foot in it asking Len to kiss him, the two end up stuck in a situation where that kiss Len told Barry to wait for might come sooner than he thought…accompanied by some other stuff. Follows 'Would You, Could You'. Barry Allen. Leonard Snart.


**A/N: High School AU. Warning for angst, underage drinking, hazing, talk of dub-con sexual acts, but also kind of romantic.**

"Where the fuck are they keeping the cooler? Alaska?" Len asks. He's restless, looking around the room repeatedly, almost obsessively, while he waits for his beer. He's been to this house a few times before. It's the wrestling team's favorite hangout, even though the wrestler who lives there graduated more than a year ago.

Something doesn't feel right. There's only about thirty boys on the wrestling team total – JV and Varsity (freshmen and sophomores who aren't on either usually don't get invited to these things). But after mingling for about an hour, there's a sudden weird influx of boys coming in, boys Len's never seen at practice before.

"Here, Len," their designated beer runner, Michael, says, handing over a can of Coors.

"Thanks," Len says, tapping the pull tab.

"And then do you know what coach said to me?" Michael asks, picking up the conversation where he left off when Len told him to go fetch them some beers, hoping he'd forget and shut his frickin' motor mouth.

"We don't particularly care," Len says. "What's with all the people? I thought this was just going to be wrestling team."

"Well," Michael says with a peculiarly wicked grin on his face, "we've gotten a lot of new blood this year across the board, and the seniors thought that maybe we should, you know, initiate them properly."

Len feels his heart skip like a stone over a frozen lake. He had a feeling that's what this was. _Shit_.

"Yeah, no," Len says, handing his beer back to Michael. "I'm not down with that."

"Yeah," Michael chuckles, "but you're not going to do anything to stop it, are ya?" He cracks the beer for Len and hands it back, turning away to continue telling his story to the more willing victim standing beside him.

Len locks his mouth shut around his next sentence. He doesn't agree with hazing, especially not the kind they have planned. He never has. But he can't take on the whole wrestling team. These guys in particular could make life really difficult, and not just for him, but for his sister, Lisa.

"Whatever," Len says, setting his beer down on the closest piece of furniture. "I gotta go."

"Suit yourself," Michael says, pretending to pay little attention. "But before you go, you might want peruse the selections. I think Anthony said something about handpicking someone he thought might interest you."

"Yeah," Len laughs. "Right. I'm sure."

Michael's eyes dart past Len toward the front door. That wicked smile of his, the one that doesn't quite fit his baby face, lifts higher on one side. "Speak of the devil…"

Len rolls his eyes. He's not in the least bit curious. He can't be. He has to worry about getting his own ass out of here. Maybe he can't do anything to stop this, but he sure as hell isn't going to be here when it happens.

Though, if he goes to the West house and tells Joe, Joe might be able to do something, come over for some bullshit reason like a noise complaint, and shut the whole thing down without anyone knowing that Len had anything to do with it.

Len heads for the door with that plan set in his head, searching for his jacket, when he sees a familiar haircut bob over the crowd, leading to a particular ski-slope nose that he's been butt up against in an argument more than once. _Oh no!_

"Allen!" Len hisses, heading straight for him before anyone else can get a hand on him. "How the _hell_ did you get in here?"

"The same way you did, Len," Barry says with a tipsy giggle. "Through the front door."

Len looks him over, his stern gaze landing on the beer in his hand. "Yeah" – he grabs the still mostly full can ( _Did Barry get tipsy off five sips of beer? Jesus!_ ) and sets it down – "well, that's the same way you're leaving, smart ass."

"I'm not leaving," Barry argues.

"This is a party for the wrestling team. Last I checked, you're not on the team."

"Check again, Len." Barry chortles at his little rhyme. "'Cuz I'm on the team."

Len's brow furrows. "Since when did you join the wrestling team? I thought you were doing track again this year."

"Since three days ago" – Barry puffs out his chest – "when I was invited."

"Yeah," Len says, a lump of steel replacing the heart in his chest, "and I think I know why." His eyes dart left and right, checking for eavesdroppers. "Look, I've got to get you out of here."

"Wait…what do you mean? Why was I…"

"Because if Joe finds out" – Len steps over Barry's question so he doesn't have to answer it honestly – "he'll kill me, then he'll kill you, then he'll dig up my dead body and kill me all over again."

"Okay," Barry says, agreeing that that's a likely scenario, "but what did you mean by…"

"Hey, guys. Leaving so soon?" A guy about twice the size of Len (which Barry didn't realize was possible until now) and wearing a letterman jacket, stops them at the door, the overly superior grin on his face growing as he stares them down.

"Yeah, George," Len answers coolly. "We've got a _huge_ Lit project due on Monday, so we've got to get going earlier than we thought."

"You're coming with me?" Barry asks, knowing now that there has to be a reason – a big one – if Len's giving up free booze to save _his_ behind.

"Yeah, Bare" - Len puts a hand on Barry's shoulder to steer him towards the door - "I'm coming with you."

"Well, _you_ can go if you want to, Snart, but we need Barry," George says, slapping his hand possessively on Barry's unclaimed shoulder. "He's one of the guests of honor."

Barry looks from Len's strained face, to the boy with the jackal-esque grin, then back to Len.

"What does that mean?" Barry asks with a nervous smile. "Guest of honor?"

"For the roundup," George says, knowing from the look on Barry's face that it's no sort of explanation. But he's purposefully not giving one. He's enjoying toying with him.

"What roundup?" This time Barry looks to Len for help. "I don't…I don't understand."

"Explain it to your boy inside, Snart," George says, shooing them off with a jerk of his chin. "No loitering near the door. It's a fire hazard."

Len knows he's not going to get anywhere with George, so he grabs Barry's arm and leads him away. "The Virgin Roundup," he explains. "It's a hazing ritual. The upper classmen gather a bunch of virgin lower classmen together, and they auction them off. Then the highest bidder takes their prize upstairs and they…"

Barry's eyebrows quirk. "You mean, the wrestling team" - he drops his voice to a whisper - "all these guys are…gay?"

"No!" Len snaps. It's a knee jerk reaction – a personal one. "Well, I mean, one or two of them are, but this isn't a gay thing, alright? It's a dominance thing. Most of these guys aren't going to sleep with the underclassmen they bet on. They're going to make them blow 'em. Look at these guys. Do you think they're _all_ going to be on the team tomorrow?"

Barry scans the group of underclassmen lumped together in the center of the living room, obliviously drinking, talking, laughing, but he only catches sight of his own face, reflected in the mirror on the other end of the room.

"How are they getting away with this?" Barry asks, looking at his face staring back at him.

"I don't know," Len admits. "They didn't have one last year. Coach Perkins cracked down on it, but then he retired at the end of last season, and the new guy…I don't think he was warned. Or he was, and he's a huge douche nugget."

"Well…we-we've got to do something," Barry sputters. "We've got to stop them!"

"We can't fight them, Barry," Len says with a hush. "And besides, if we make a stink right now, we're never getting out of here. At least, not in time to help anyone," he adds after seeing the puppy dog expression on Barry's face. He has to make Barry think that he had every intention of righting this wrong.

He can't tell him the truth.

Suddenly, Barry's frightened gaze, locked on to Len's face like a lifeline, becomes indignant.

"Why didn't you tell me about this?" Barry asks. "Why didn't you tell me before I ended up here?"

"Why would I tell you about it?" Len laughs sarcastically. "You're not supposed to be here!"

"Well, I…I…" Barry stops half way thru when he realizes he has no argument and starts to panic instead. "I've got to get out of here, Len! I've got to…"

"Okay guys," the booming voice of team captain Mitchell Clems calls out over the crowd. The senior, almost as mountainous as George standing guard at the door, and flanked by two other wrestlers who look like they could be working for an organized crime syndicate, steps through the mob of underclassmen and up to the front of the room. "We'd like to take this opportunity to welcome our new recruits to this year's wrestling team!"

"Come with me," Len says, tugging on Barry's elbow.

A round of applause starts from the upperclassmen in the back, moving through the lowerclassmen, except for Barry and Len, backing steadily towards a doorway Len thinks might lead to the kitchen. There's got to be a door in there. Maybe no one's watching it. Len keeps his eyes glued to Mitchell in the front, giving his speech, so he doesn't notice Barry's eyes widen at the arrival of someone behind them.

"Len," Barry says, turning to his friend with horrified eyes as another letterman jacket clad jock muscles between them and grabs Barry's arm, dragging him off to the front of the room.

"Barry…" Len reaches out to grab him, which is ridiculous because then what? Are they going to play Tug O' War with Barry? And what did Len expect to happen if he won? Did he think they would let him take Barry and leave? No. Len's best bet is to wait this out and see what happens.

He just wishes he could let Barry know that that's his plan.

Len watches, momentarily helpless, as Barry is paraded through the crowd and up to the front, instructed to stand beside Mitchell like some sort of mascot. It seems quite obvious to Len that they didn't choose Barry randomly. They didn't even pick him because he was heading towards the back door. This was their plan from the start. But why?

"We've got a couple of events planned for our official welcome to the team. I see you guys have got your drinks, that's good. I think we'll start the festivities with our annual Virgin Roundup." That announcement earns an enthusiastic cheer from the upperclassman, and a low murmur of confusion and concern among the group standing in the center. Many of them put their drinks down and look around, noticing for the first time the wrestlers flanking the room, blocking the only visible exit. "As some of you might know, we didn't get to have one last year." Booing follows, and the lowerclassmen start herding together, looking to one another for an explanation. "But thankfully, due to an untimely medical issue, Coach Perkins retired last year, and our new coach, Coach Bleisdell, well, he seems to be fine with us doing whatever we want on our own time. So" – He claps his hands loudly – "I say we kick off our auction this time around with the only virgin upperclassman we could find, a truly rare commodity, Mr. Barry Allen."

The boy who'd hoisted Barry up there, still holding Barry's arm, pushes him ahead, while the upperclassmen in the back of the room whoop and holler. Len sees Barry's eyes search him out in the crowd, and Len looks back, even though initially he wanted to look away. What does Barry expect him to do? Len didn't want anything to do with this, and that decision wasn't about him. He didn't want to get into this for Lisa's sake. He can't have any of these Neanderthals make her a target.

But he can't leave Barry high and dry.

Fuck!

Why did he have to give a shit one way or the other? Why couldn't Barry keep his ass safe at home like he did every Friday night so that this one time Len didn't have to suffer from a conflict of interests? So he could pretend he didn't have a conscience and look the other way?

"So, what do we get for Barry here, huh guys?" Mitchell asks. His gaze searches the crowd, too. He finds Len's eyes also, but he doesn't stick to them the way Barry does. Something about them looks _knowing_. Perceptive in an unnerving way. "We'll start with a dollar. How about that? A deal for him. I mean, we stole him off the track team, guys. Make it worth the boy's while."

Len waits and sees what the other guys will do. If no one shows any interest in Barry, maybe they'll cut him loose. Len's never heard of it happening, but that doesn't mean it won't.

Yeah. And a neon orange orangutan might walk in wearing a coconut bra and a grass skirt, and start doing the hula.

A hand shoots up.

"I've got a dollar on Allen!"

"Nice," Mitchell says, pointing to the boy who bid, but his eyes again, for some reason, land on Len. "Do we have two dollars? Anyone?"

Again, Len waits. He can for sure take that first guy. Toni's in the lightweight division. Len could probably glare him down and take off with Barry. He could probably get a couple of bucks out of him, too.

"I've got $2.50!" a different boy says.

"I've got five!"

"Ten over here!"

 _What the hell?_ When did Barry become the shiny new toy? All these guys know him. Len usually has to spend a half an hour out of every day making sure they laid off him, and they're always ragging on him for it. So why would they want him so badly?

And that's when Len realizes, they don't want Barry. They're goading _him_. That's the angle. That's why Mitchell had Anthony pick him out.

Len's not exactly a team player. He goes to the parties. He makes nice when required. But for the most part, he works out, he competes, and he keeps quiet. He's not a joiner, and he's made it clear on more than one occasion that he's not on their side. He's in this for the extracurricular credits and in hopes of a scholarship.

They're blackmailing him, waiting for Len to play into their hands.

If he's going to get Barry out of here, he's going to have to roll the dice.

He pulls his wallet out of his back pocket right as somebody yells, "Fifteen!"

 _Fuck!_ There's an actual bidding war going on. He wishes he'd thought to swipe someone else's wallet before this started. Probably no chance of him pulling that off now.

"Seventeen fifty!"

"Eighteen!"

"I've got nineteen!"

Len fingers through the bills in his wallet.

"Twenty!" another boys laughs. "I've got…"

"Thirty," Len says, raising his hand in the air. "I've got thirty on Barry."

"Well, well, well," Mitchell says. "Look who's ballin' up for once. For all of your whining and complaining, who knew that little Lenny Snart liked to twiddle boys? I guess we just had to find you the right one, huh?"

"What I do or don't do is none of your business," Len says. He sees another boy from the corner of his eye raise his hand, and Len jumps his bid. "Look, I'm going to make this short and simple. I have in my wallet one-hundred-fifty-eight dollars and ( _one-two-five)_ seventy-three cents. You're not going to get more than that for him. That makes Barry mine."

Waves of surprised conversation flow through the group of upperclassmen.

"No one's ever gone for more than fifty dollars before," Barry hears some guy off to his right say.

"Yeah. Len must really want him."

"I guess Mitch was right."

"See that, Allen?" Mitchell says, giving Barry a light punch on the arm as if they were friends. "Three days on the team and you're already a legend."

"Call it," Len says, grinding his teeth.

Mitchell looks at Len, drawing this out, wondering what else he can do to make Leonard Snart squirm. If he could just get someone else to bid. But Len has a reputation, for the most part; he's respected in a way that Mitchell never quite got.

Besides, who in their right mind would pay more than a buck fifty for a blow?

"Okay, Len," Mitchell says condescendingly. "If that's what you want. Going once, going twice…sold to Leonard Snart for one-hundred-fifty-eight dollars and seventy-three cents."

Len cuts through the crowd toward Barry with his money clenched in his fist. Spending his pocket money leaves him with about a hundred at home that he's hiding from his dad, way shorter than he'd like to be before the end of the month, but he can't think about that now. One tragedy at a time. He drops the money into Mitchell's outstretched hand, curbing his scowl.

"It's all there," Len says. "Alrighty, Bare" – He grabs Barry by the back of the neck - "let's go."

"Nu-uh," Mitchell says. One of his guards grabs Len's shoulder. "Upstairs you two."

" _I_ bought him," Len says, ignoring the beefy hand on his shoulder, but smarter than to try and shake it off, "and _I_ say we go home."

"And we say you stay," the guy squeezing Len's shoulder insists.

"Come on, guys. Now's when the fun starts." Mitchell turns to the other boy at his side. "Conroy, if you please, escort the happy couple upstairs and show them to their room."

"Certainly," Conroy says, lumbering past them with an expectant glance and a crooked smile. "Follow me."

Len glares at Mitchell, but Mitchell shrugs.

"You know the rules. You do the deed, then you're free to leave."

Barry turns back to Len. "Len?" he asks, terrified.

Len sincerely doubts that they'll let him and Barry leave no matter what they do upstairs, but he doesn't see that they have any other choice.

"You'd better follow him," Len says with an irritated motion of his hand in Conroy's direction.

Barry doesn't say a word, just walks solemnly after the boy walking him and Len to the staircase.

Barry, who always finds a need to talk during tense situations, turns slightly to glance behind him.

"Uh…if I don't say this later, thanks," Barry throws over his shoulder as Len shoves him up the steps.

"Don't thank me yet," Len says. "And by the way – you're paying me back every cent."

"Right this way, boys," Conroy says, leading them to the first door on the right. He opens it and gestures for them to go inside. From what Len knows, there are three other doors up here, but he thinks one of them might be a bathroom. If his estimate is correct, they'll keep them in there for half an hour, forty-five minutes at the most, and then they should be able to leave. After that, Barry can call Joe and tell him everything. It might not be in enough time to help a small handful of boys, two or three, from going through this, but Len can't save everyone.

Barry waits for Conroy to shut the door and leave before he asks, "So, what do we do now?" hoping that Len has come up with some sort of master plan during their short jaunt upstairs.

"We bide our time," Len says, doing a once over of the room. There's only the one door, and some sort of wrought iron thing on the windows, blocking it on the outside. _Damn_. "Let's you and me talk, huh?" He spins a chair around and straddles it, stalling on telling Barry his actual only plan to give him time to think of a better one.

"Okay," Barry says, reluctantly sitting on the edge of the bed – the pink elephant in the room. "What do you want to talk about?"

"I don't understand," Len says, folding his arms on the top of the chair and resting his chin on them. "You're not one for partying, and you sure as hell don't drink. Why are you here?"

Barry shrugs. "I'm not…I'm not popular. I don't get invited to parties, so I don't go to any. Then I got invited to this one, and I thought…well…you know…I'd try it out, have my first drink, maybe make out with a cheerleader if I got lucky. You know the rumors. The parties the wrestling team throws are supposed to be epic. I didn't know what was going to happen."

Len laughs. He can't really fault Barry for any of that. Some of those are the reasons why he went to his first party with the wrestling team.

"You know, Allen, being a virgin doesn't make you a loser necessarily."

Barry's face drops. "Necessarily?"

"I mean, you're a great guy, Barry," Len recovers. "It'll happen for you someday." A thorn blooms in Len's chest. "You know, with the… _right_ … person."

Barry nods, his mind wrapping around the way Len says _right person_. It's a reference, something he should rectify, but he doesn't know how.

"So, are giving these little pep talks painful for you?"

Len drops his head back on his shoulders and sighs. "You have _no_ idea."

Barry chuckles. With his face aimed at the ceiling, where Barry can't see, Len smiles.

"Well," Barry says, "if it means anything, you're really good at it."

Len shrugs. "I don't try to be, but I guess we don't get to choose our talents. I mean, if I was going to have a super power, it wouldn't be _pep talk_."

"What would it be?" Barry asks, feeling the need to keep the conversation going so they don't spend the next however long they're there in complete silence.

"I don't know," Len sighs, kind of hoping they could sit in complete silence so he could figure out a way out of this, what he's going to tell the guys downstairs who are going to want proof that he deflowered Bare. "It would be, like, super speed or invisibility or something."

"Hmm," Barry hums thoughtfully.

"Hmm, what?"

"Super speed, invisibility…those are talents that would keep people from getting too close to you."

"Or they'd help me get away so humanity in general would stop bugging the shit out of me."

That response brings to Barry's mind a dozen questions – questions about Len, but, more to the point, about _him_ and Len. Barry's known Len for a while, since middle school. They started out as enemies, ended up as friends, and spent quite a bit of time together. But Barry still doesn't _know_ Len. Which might be why his mind has felt free to wander to the places it has been lately where Snart is concerned. He doesn't have some huge, brother-like friendship he's afraid of destroying if things go wrong, though, losing Len as a friend - that might actually be devastating.

Barry doesn't think this is the most appropriate place to go into any of that, but it seems like they have nothing but time until the jocks downstairs come upstairs and tell them their time's up and to get out.

 _If_ they let them leave. Barry, for one, isn't convinced, and he's pretty certain Len isn't either.

Len and Barry hear a scuffle at the foot of the stairs outside. It seems like no big deal to Barry, but Len's head perks up, eyes suddenly fixed on the door.

"Look, Bare, there's something you need to understand, so I'm going to go ahead and say it. We need to figure something out. Those goons downstairs aren't going to let us out until we have sex."

"So, why don't we just tell them we had sex?" Barry asks like it's that simple, and Len rolls his eyes.

"Because, they'll want proof."

"What kind of proof?"

"Well, usually they do their best to walk in during the act."

Barry's cheeks can't seem to decide whether to go scarlet or white, so they hover somewhere around a Pepto Bismol pink. "Well, we can call Joe."

"Okay," Len says, "but there's two problems with that."

"What are they?"

"First of all, how many beers have you had?"

"Like, half of one."

"Yeah, well, that's half of one too many for Joe." Len shakes his head. "Also, they had this set up from the get-go, so they patted me down for my phone at the door. Do you have yours?"

Barry checks his pockets, like he's not too sure.

"No," Barry says, looking more despaired. "They took it."

"Look, we don't have to do anything," Len explains. "We just have to make it _look_ like we've been…"

Len doesn't finish, motioning around them to the room, the bed, leading Barry to the conclusion for himself. Barry leans forward, trying to follow Len's train of thinking, shaking his head. Len throws his hands up in frustration, and Barry finally gets it.

"Oh…oh, God. Okay, well, how do we do that?"

Len had been hoping that Barry would freak out, demand they figure out another way, complain loud enough to make the guys downstairs nervous that someone outside would hear, but that working would have been a longshot. As far as Len can see, there's only one way out of this.

"Take off your shirt," Len says, standing from his chair and grabbing the hem of his own, pulling it up his chest. "Pants, too. We're going to climb in that bed, get under those blankets, and we're going to put on a good show."

"Oh," Barry says, standing slowly, suddenly shell-shocked. "Yeah…okay. If you think that's going to work."

"It's gonna be fine," Len says, tossing his shirt nonchalantly over a chair and kicking off his shoes, then starting to unbutton his jeans. "We're not going to actually do anything."

"Oh," Barry repeats, more disappointed than before. "Well, then, that's a relief."

Len strips down to his briefs before Barry even takes off his shirt, and Barry can't help staring. It's ridiculous, of course, because he's seen Len in his underwear before. Heck, he's even seen him naked once, getting dressed in the locker room at the city pool. But Barry's never been in a position like this, preparing to get into bed with him. He's never taken a good hard look the way he is now, at the body of a boy who spends about three hours at minimum per day in the gym, runs track every evening, who spends what Barry used to believe was a laughable amount of time investing in his body.

Barry's definitely not laughing anymore.

"Here," Len says, misinterpreting Barry's stunned expression, "let me help you."

"Oh…" Barry yelps as Len grabs the bottom edge of his shirt and tugs it up, not all too gently. He tosses the shirt away and starts in on Barry's jeans.

"No, no, that's okay" – Barry steps out of Len's grasp, mortified at what Len might accidentally feel while fumbling with his fly. As it is, Barry is scouring his brain of anything even remotely erotic, trying to focus solely on figuring out the answer to the Birch and Swinnerton-Dyer Conjecture, hoping to kill his burgeoning erection stone dead.

One flicker of Len's eyes from Barry's face to his hands at the button of his jeans, his Adam's Apple bobbing with a thick swallow, dashes those hopes entirely.

"Well, don't just stand there then," Len says, blowing by Barry and climbing under the sheets. "Take them off and get in here. We don't have a lot of time."

As if to emphasize that point, a voice downstairs yells, "Aren't they done yet?"

"Nah, I don't think they are."

"Well, go check on 'em! They've been up there long enough for Len to get his rocks off twice already!"

Barry's knees wobble as he kicks off his shoes, strips off his jeans, and approaches the bed – the bed with a half-naked Len lying in it, holding the sheet up for Barry to climb under, his breathing becoming noticeably heavier since this began, despite the usual snarky glare in his eyes.

Barry sits on the edge and swings his legs over, hiccupping softly when Len tosses the edge of the blanket over him.

"Here." Len reaches out a hand and runs it roughly through Barry's hair. Then he leans back a bit to survey the damage, see if it's good enough. "Okay, now lie down."

"Wha-"

"It's just for show," Len says. "I'm not going to…I won't try…I'm just trying to get you out of here, Barry!"

"I know that," Barry says, nodding a little too much.

"Alright, alright," one of the voices from downstairs says from the staircase, "I'm goin'."

"I know this isn't the best time or the best place, but" – Len sighs – "let me kiss you."

Barry's eyes pop open. "I thought you said…"

"I'm still not going to try anything," Len promises.

"Not that. I mean, back in my room, when I wanted you to kiss me, what you said then…"

"Yeah, I remember." Len stops a second, debating between trying to explain, and going ahead and kissing him. "I also said that I'd kiss you. That I'd absolutely kiss you. You're the one who said you were just trying to get it over with."

"Yeah, about that," Barry says, "I know how I sounded, but that wasn't really what I meant."

"So, are you saying that you wanted to…kiss _me_?"

"Yes" – Barry nods – "I did. I do. I've just been…you know, trying to find a way to tell you."

Len nods, eyes scanning Barry's face. "Then tell me."

"Len" – Barry feels like he doesn't have a single breath left, and he needs to. He needs to say this – "I want to kiss you."

"Alright then."

Barry expects one of Len's signature smiles – smooth and charming, not taking much of anything too seriously. But the look he gets instead, edgy and a little shy, he likes much better.

Len puts a hand to Barry's cheek, his palm warm, his skin rough, but not in an uncomfortable way. He takes a breath in when he puts his lips to Barry's mouth, like he wants to fill his senses with Barry before he kisses him. Touch follows quickly after sight and smell and taste, his hand starting at Barry's shoulder and running down his arm. Len turns into him, and there he is, leaning against Barry's body, his hard length pressing into Barry's thigh. Barry whimpers. It's not a conscious sound, it's a reaction. It simply happens. Len sweeps his tongue over Barry's mouth and his lips part for him. Barry feels Len move against him, short ruts that travel from the sensitive skin of his thigh to slotted between his legs, and before Barry realizes it, he's moaning into Len's mouth.

They hear a knock, the door opens, but neither of them looks up to see who it is or what they want. They don't care. This has gone far beyond acting, and that boy, gawking at the doorway, doesn't even exist.

"Okay, guys," the boy laughs, knocking loudly on the wall in the hopes of seeing them jump apart.

They don't.

"Mitch said that if I was convinced, you two could go, and I'm convinced. So wrap it up. We need the room."

Len doesn't part from Barry's lips until they hear the door click shut. Barry looks in Len's eyes. There's relief there that they pulled this off, but something else.

That something else is _want_.

Len attacks Barry's lips again, and Barry's hands drift underneath the blanket, down Len's back to his hips, starting to round towards the front, fingertips light on Len's skin. He can feel them trembling as they crawl, as they reach…

"No." Len pushes Barry's hands away even though he can't stop kissing him. "No, you don't want to do this."

"M-maybe I do," Barry stutters, his hands breaking free of Len's grasp far too easily and returning to his waist so they can continue their journey. And Len's about to let him, until the flashback hits – similar room, different bed, very different guy. Then Len does one of the hardest things he's ever had to do.

He pulls away from Barry's mouth.

"No," Len says, staring into Barry's eyes, which look back at him wide with lust and a glimmer of excitement, "take my word for it when I tell you, Barry, that this is not how you want it to be."

"But…" Barry continues to argue, feeling his heart shudder underneath this rejection. "But you want…and I…"

"Barry, listen to me," Len says, punctuating every word, making each one count, "believe me when I tell you that I know for a fact that _this_ is not how you want your first time."

Barry sucks in a breath. He feels numb.

 _Oh, God,_ Barry thinks when he catches on _. Oh, Len._

But Barry doesn't say anything to confirm it. He just nods.

"Okay," Barry says, watching sadly as Len lets go of him, then pulls the blanket off himself and climbs out of the bed. "But…should we, maybe, talk about this?"

Len looks back over at Barry – poor, confused, young (regardless of the fact that the two of them are only months apart in age) Barry. His life has been so full of unspeakable tragedy – his mother dead, his father in prison for her murder - forcing him to grow up way to fast. But unlike Len, whose own sad and tragic backstory has made him hard and cynical, Barry is probably the most naïve and soft human being Len's ever met.

There are so many ways that Barry reminds Len of Lisa - that's probably the reason why he feels so protective of him.

No. That's not it. There are other reasons why. Reasons he's not quite prepared to deal with. Especially not here, in this bedroom, considering what happened to him once upon a time.

"Yeah," Len says, slipping his shirt on over his head, smoothing it down his chest. "Sure, we will, just…not right now." He rescues Barry's shirt from where it fell, draped across the corner of the desk, and tosses it to the half-naked boy staring at him with flushed red cheeks and questioning eyes. "Come on. Get dressed. Let me get you home before they change their minds."


End file.
